Law of Signs
by bdrake07
Summary: It feels like a long time ago that all this started. Like eons ago, when dinosaurs ruled the earth and mohawked Neanderthals tossed normal people in dumpsters. Like that. Kurt/Puck, Rated T for Language.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Glee_.

**A/N: **Yes, this is my OTP.

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**Law of Signs **

_bdrake07_

It feels like a long time ago that all this started. Like eons ago, when dinosaurs ruled the earth and mohawked Neanderthals tossed normal people in dumpsters. Like that.

Only now, just a few billion years later, the poles have shifted, cats are living with dogs, and Kurt Hummel is actually what he would call _friends_ with Noah Puckerman. When pigs fly, right?

Right. Well, that still didn't explain why Puck had made a beeline for him at the beginning of Glee practice, saying, "Dude, I just spent the past forty-five minutes listening to nerds debate which law is better- the law of sines or the law of cosines."

Puck, you see, had just had his first math class in two years. And the person he apparently wished to share his torture with was not Finn (who is sitting closer to the door in between Quinn and Rachel, like the story of his life, looking slightly trapped), but _Kurt_. Kurt _Hummel_.

Cue the little voice in Kurt's brain, which often had a tendency to sound like Mercedes: Say what?!

Yes, they had had civil conversations on and off the football field; in and out of the choir room. But that didn't excuse Puck's sudden inclination towards being besties. It was less the fact that Puck had wanted to talk to him at all and more the fact that Puck had wanted to talk to him _first_. And what was even more surprising? Kurt couldn't help himself from falling into this routine like the two of them were a well-tuned machine.

"That's ridiculous," Kurt replies drolly (even though his brain is still a little fuzzy on the whole situation), pausing to look up from examining his nails. "Especially since each law applies to a different mathematical procedure."

He wants to clap a hand over his mouth. He sounds like _Rachel_ fucking _Berry_.

Puck slumps down in the seat next to him with one eyebrow raised, dropping his books unceremoniously onto a nearby music stand. "Wow," he says, that trademark smirk shining through his words, "_be_ more of a dork, Hummel."

Kurt settles for a look, you know, _that _look, that "head bitch in charge", pissed off diva kind of look he's forced to resort to when he can't summon up an adequate comeback. This look often surfaces around Puck, because unfortunately Puck has a knack for getting in the last word, especially with Kurt.

"Man," Puck says, almost dejectedly, "I'm never gonna make it through Trig. And definitely not with Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker having nerdgasms every thirty seconds."

Kurt stops playing with his scarf to look at Puck incredulously. "Was that a Muppets reference?" Puck shrugs, and Kurt decides to attribute all new oddities to the pole shifting, pig flying universe he is now living in.

"Maybe," Kurt returns to the fringe on his highly fashionable scarf (not like anyone needs to be told _Kurt's_ scarf is highly fashionable), "you should have considered all of this before you decided to sleep through your entire high school education."

"You sound like my mother," Puck accuses him grumpily. "And I didn't sleep through my '_entire_ high school education'… just the boring stuff."

Kurt frowns at him. This is a small comfort, considering the tendency of a high school class to be excruciatingly boring.

Puck is staring straight back somewhat defiantly, like he's just daring Kurt to come up with something witty that involves a jab at the size of Puck's brain, which would leave the door wide open for any number of crude retorts involving Puck's lower extremities. Kurt decides not to give him the satisfaction and focuses quickly on Mercedes's slightly garish outfit (she did not call him, _again_). But that little voice in the back of his head that keeps saying things like "hell to the NAH" is commenting on how incredibly intense and, well… _sexy_ Puck's gaze is starting to look.

Somewhere, somehow, a pig is flying.

Puck shifts a little beside him, and _damn_, he's about to say something. "Hey, you're good at math and stuff, right?"

"And stuff," Kurt replies vaguely, never looking away from the door, because where the hell is Mr. Schue? Part of him does not like where this is going and part of him is hanging off the edge of his seat with anticipation.

"You should teach me," Puck says, and Kurt has to look at him because it's _not_ condescending and it's _not_ mocking, and it's actually kind of earnest and sounds like it was uncharacteristically easy to say.

"Not everything," Puck continues, holding up a hand, completely misunderstanding the reason why Kurt looks so utterly gobsmacked, "just like tutoring or whatever." And then he's got that stupid little smirk on his face, barely there, like he knows, like he just _knows_ how Kurt's brain is working in overdrive.

"But… wh-why?" Kurt stammers, doing a painfully accurate impersonation of Tina, all the while wanting to smack himself on the forehead for sounding so pathetic and, overall, like a complete fool.

Puck shrugs again, his smirk growing wider—Cheshire Cat like. "You're like the smartest person I know. Either you or Rachel Berry. And all the booze in all the bars in the world wouldn't make me crazy enough to go near her without a ten foot pole. Or," he pauses, considering, "_with_ a ten foot pole."

This is, in retrospect, an incredibly mean thing to say, but because this is whacked-out, twilight zone universe, Kurt feels a little laugh, like a puff of air, escape his lips.

"So you'll do it," Puck says, looking entirely too happy. Kurt's not sure if this is a genuine joy at getting to spend more time together (not likely), or some sort of twisted satisfaction at the prospect of many more hours that can be used to torture him.

And Kurt feels himself say, "Yeah," like his mouth is moving independently of all rational thought. This is Puck—_Puck_, and not some fairy, in the literal sense, who goes around matchmaking with a magic potion. This is the guy who has believed for years that Kurt prefers eau-de-trash barrel to any other fancy cologne. And Kurt has just agreed to tutor him. Him, _Puck_.

Naturally, Kurt is privately freaking out. And this is, of course, when Mr. Schue decides to enter, just about five minutes shy of saving Kurt from what is possibly the biggest mistake of his life.

But Puck—_he_ is looking like the Cheshire Cat that ate the canary, for reasons that Kurt is still deathly afraid of finding out, and when Mr. Schue hands them their respective musical parts and they move to opposite sides of the room, Kurt is forced to reconsider the painful tightening in his chest. It could be, all this pole-shifting stuff, a warning that the Earth is about to implode. Like how before an earthquake your cat starts to freak out; how before the end of the world all the bees start to disappear.

Or, Kurt muses idly as he watches Mr. Schue coaching Finn and Puck on some dance moves (an exercise in futility, possibly), it's just heralding the start of something new. Something big. Maybe these signs—Puck's sudden reverse homophobia, his actual genuine_ friendliness_—don't signal the end of the world. Maybe these signs signal that Kurt's luck is about to change, and hell, it's about time.

Kurt decides, right then and there, that the Law of Signs is better.


End file.
